


I Really Can't Stay

by daring_drinker_of_dreams



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas fic, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, and we all love him for it, drunkjolras, in which courf is an instigator, this boy can't hold his anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daring_drinker_of_dreams/pseuds/daring_drinker_of_dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas with the Amis has always been interesting.<br/>When they were nine it was the great debate of Is-Santa-Real-Or-Not, but twelve years later it's fair to say no one's matured very much.<br/>At their annual Christmas Eve party in Enjolras's apartment Courfeyrac's goal is naturally to get said blond revolutionary drunk without his noticing, but when Grantaire winds up the last one there, he's asked to stay the night, making both this year and the next ones for the record books.</p>
<p>TheConsultingCompanion was listening to Baby It's Cold Outside and asked for Drunkjolras telling Grantaire he had to stay. Then this happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Really Can't Stay

Enjolras shut the door behind Bahorel and Feuilly and yawned as he turned back towards the couch, shaking his head. Grantaire still stood somewhat awkwardly in the corner, shifting his weight and waiting for a clear dismissal, torn between his reluctance to push his luck and his desire _not_ to just slink out without some slight recognition of the fact that this had actually been a good night, for once.

Enjolras, however, seemed not to give a thought to Grantaire’s presence and had busied himself with picking up the plates and cups that littered his living room. When he passed Grantaire on his way to the kitchen he stumbled slightly, and though he righted himself with ease he had come near enough to colliding with the other man for Grantaire to not only hear his muttering about ‘cleaning up after themselves just once in their lifetimes,’ but also catch the idiotic grin Enjolras had directed at the floor, and he tried to make up for his own knees going weak by taking another quick draught from his flask.

He decided it was best he leave before saying something stupid and spoiling things, and was already trying to fit his jacket over his sweatshirt when Enjolras returned a moment later.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Enjolras asked pointedly from behind him, and Grantaire rolled his eyes, cursing the gods for allowing him to still sound so authoritative while he was a giggling drunken idiot.

“I’m, uh, going home?” he answered, unable to keep the words from turning into a question.

“You can’t drive yourself home now, you’re drunk.” But even as he said it, Enjolras swayed a little himself, and though it took him only a moment to steady himself against the back of a chair, it was not before Grantaire had crossed over and reached out to stop him from falling.

“For once I’m not,” he said with a slight smile, trying to hide his blush as he seemed to catch himself in the act of reaching for Enjolras and dropped his hands quickly to his sides again, “Although even more interestingly – you, dear leader, are.”

“I don’t get drunk,” Enjolras began, as though hoping to explain why this was statistically impossible.

“Two hours ago you started using ‘nutcrackers’ as a curse,” Grantaire pointed out.

“Well, you’ve had as much to drink as I have,” Enjolras protested, but it came out sounding notably more like a pouting child than his usual arguments did, not that that made it any easier for Grantaire to ignore it. Just the opposite, in fact.

“Even if that were true I’d be a lot more sober than you are right now. But, for the record, I’ve only had as much to drink as you _think_ you’ve had,” Grantaire corrected him. He didn’t even bother trying not to laugh when it dawned on Enjolras a moment later.

“I’m going to kill Courfeyrac.”

“Come on, you don’t mean that. You enjoyed yourself tonight, didn’t you?”

Enjolras seemed to ponder in earnest for a moment before splitting into the stupidest and widest grin imaginable, and it by no means made Grantaire’s heart skip a beat. No, not at all. “Yeah, I did.”

“Then it was all for the greater good. . . I’ll see you tomorrow at The Musain,” he added hurriedly, turning to go again before he could get lost staring at that impossible smile. Again.

“No. You can’t leave.”

“I told you, I’m not drunk.”

“But I saw you drinking, R, you’re always drinking. And it’s dark and it’s snowy and you can’t go drive now.”

“You just let Bahorel and Feuilly go, and they _are_ drunk. Do you really trust me less than that?”

“They’re taking the subway home.”

“I live on the other side of town, I’m not leaving my car here overnight.”

“You’d just have to come get it in the morning anyway.”

“Exactly, it’s senseless. See? You can’t even make an argument. Enjolras, you are very, very drunk right now.”

“No, listen – it doesn’t make sense for you to come back tomorrow morning for your car.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“So instead you just have to stay here tonight.”

Grantaire froze. He had to leave. He had to leave now, before Enjolras said something else completely absurbs and despicably tempting.

"I- can’t—” he stuttered, but Enjolras shook his head with a certain, albeit lazy, authority. A few golden curls fell into his eyes and Grantaire refused to look up at him.

“You have to. I said so.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to listen to you,” Grantaire protested, but now he resembled more of the defiant five-year-old than anything else.

“You aren’t going to make me argue with you on Christmas, are you?”

“Never stopped us before,” Grantaire pointed out, unable to suppress a sly grin.

Enjolras understood well enough. “So it’s settled then, we’ll wait up for Santa.”

“Sure, Enjolras. I’ll go wait at my house and you wait here, so we’ll have twice the chance of catching him.

“You’re staying here.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Is that really your argument now? ‘Yes, you are?’”

“You’re staying.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Why won’t you?”

The list was endless. He couldn’t stay, he absolutely couldn’t. He wanted to stay too badly to actually do so, and no matter how many times Enjolras insisted he spend the night, he would never understand how very much Grantaire wanted to – so, naturally, he couldn’t.

“I’m not a good house guest, you certainly won’t want me around when you feel like crap in the morning.”

“I feel like crap now,” Enjolras corrected, and Grantaire immediately dropped the edge on his voice as he took note of how tightly Enjolras was gripping the chair he’d been leaning on.

“You should go lie down,” he said gently, reaching out to take Enjolras by the shoulders and guide him to his room.

“Why? So you can leave?”

“No, I—I’ll stay.”

“You will.”

“If you go lie down,” Grantaire added pointedly.

“But then where will you sleep?”

“I’ll be fine on the couch.”

“But if you sleep out here you can leave and I won’t notice it,” Enjolras argued, even as he allowed himself to be guided into his bedroom. Grantaire did his best not to notice how Enjolras had latched onto his arm. Really, he did.

“What would you have me do? You won’t let me leave, and I’m not staying unless it’s to see that you take care of yourself.”

“You have to stay with me, so I can make sure you don’t leave,” he said as Grantaire searched for the light switch with one hand, the other still supporting Enjolras. When he found it and turned it on, Enjolras flinched from the sudden light, and turned to bury his face against Grantaire’s shoulder.

“Fine, I’ll sleep on the floor,” Grantaire said shakily, making an effort to keep his voice level and just thankful that Enjolras was not looking up to see him blushing.

“That’s no better than the couch. And you’re my guest. I’m not that crappy a host.”

“You’re already holding me hostage,” Grantaire pointed out.

“Well, then, I’m going to hold you hostage correctly,” Enjolras insisted stubbornly, dragging Grantaire over to the bed.

“No, I can’t—” Grantaire protested in earnest. It was impossibly hard to deny Enjolras now, but, god, that was exactly why he had to. It would be so wrong of him to do this; even sober, Enjolras wouldn’t understand how much Grantaire wanted this.

“Please, R,” Enjolras persisted, exasperated and tired. “Don’t make me argue with you anymore.”

Grantaire wanted to argue, Grantaire wanted to beg him not to make him do this, not to make him feel this guilt like he were taking advantage of a twenty-one-year-old with approximately zero alcohol tolerance. But he couldn’t do that to him, not when said twenty-one-year-old was as tired and uncomfortable as he was.

So instead he flicked off the light and allowed himself to be pushed down onto the bed as he kicked off his shoes, resolving himself to lie as far away from Enjolras as possible and keep as stiff as a board all night.

When Enjolras climbed into bed beside him, however, he seemed to have different ideas. The bed was not big, of course, and Grantaire could not stop himself from understanding that he was probably the only other person who had ever slept in it, but even so, proximity alone did not seem enough for Enjolras, who, once in bed, wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s again, curling up to his side.

They lay still for a moment or so, Grantaire praying they would just fall asleep like that. After a moment, Enjolras shivered.

“It’s cold,” he said, not bothering to open his eyes, his head resting somewhere near Grantaire’s shoulder.

“It’s the middle of December.”

“I noticed.”

“Getting irritable? I told you my presence does that.”

“Grantaire?”

“I believe the condition of me staying was that you get some rest, if I recall correctly—” Enjolras yawned and pressed himself still closer to Grantaire, pulling the blanket tightly around them both, tossing his arm across Grantaire’s chest as he did so.

“Merry Christmas.”

“I—Merry Christmas, Enjolras.”

He had spent many a night with a bottle before him, but never had he known temptation until he faced the desire to press a kiss to the top of Enjolras’s head just then.

 

When they awoke together the next morning, neither had moved, and they still laid like that, Enjolras pressed up against Grantaire, who was doing his absolute best to pretend he was anywhere but where he was, even as he tried to commit to memory everything from the rhythm of his breathing to the smell of his hair.

Enjolras yawned, pulling back from Grantaire just enough to do so.

"Shit," he whispered after he took in his surroundings.

"I swear we only slept," Grantaire found himself saying before he had a chance to think, and mentally slapped himself for the remark.

"My head," Enjolras continued, seeming not to have heard Grantaire at all, "feels like it's been run over."

"Ah," Grantaire said, relieved, "that has been known to happen."

"I was drunk."

"Yes, and now you're hungover." Enjolras groaned, rolling his head back- then whimpered, realizing that that was not the most comfortable thing to do at the moment. "I take it you've never been like this before."

"How are you like this all the time though, that's the thing?"

Grantaire was saved from explaining how 'feeling like this' was actually preferable in a number of Enjolras-centric situations when the bedroom door burst open and Courferyrac bounded in exuberantly, a pair of reindeer antlers on his head and a stream of what could easily have been called 'the worst Christmas hits of the late 20th century' pouring from his mouth. They understood then that his loud half-break-in to the apartment must have been what had woken them, but were at least spared from hearing exactly why ‘Daddy should Please Not Get Drunk This Christmas’ when he stopped dead in his tracks, busy trying to process what he was seeing.

"Oh my God it's _a Christmas miracle_."

"Your song choice is tasteless," Grantaire informed him, refusing to acknowledge Courf's comment.

"I think ‘intentional’ would be a more accurate word," Eponine said with a smile, appearing at his side in the doorway. "You're still lucky though, on the way over here it was everything from "Little Drummer Boy" to "Funky Funky Christmas." "

" _My head_ feels like that little drummer shit, can't you keep your voices down?" Enjolras complained, but Eponine only laughed and Courf was still too busy attempting to collect himself.

"What time is it?" Grantaire asked, unwilling to move enough to see the clock on the nightstand.

"Almost nine," Eponine supplied, recovering herself, and Enjolras moaned again.

"Jesus Christ did he make those sounds all night?" Courfeyrac asked, apparently re-discovering his voice box that instant.

"I am going to murder you Courfeyrac, you should not have come here," Enjolras said without bothering to look up.

"Had to pick up Jehan's car, we weren't _all_ invited to your little sleep over."

"When I kill you you'll be a lot quieter, I'm sure."

"That shouldn't be for a while, then, judging by the look of you. Though of course, I know you're really thankful, and so I will say you're welcome," he said, bowing.

"Grantaire, love?" Enjolras asked mockingly, unknowingly sending the other man into complete madness with the sarcasm his voice was laden with.

"Yes, dear?" he managed, with equal falsity despite the way it made his heart pound to say the words, even as an act.

"Do you know if burning at the stake is still a thing they do?"

"You know, I think it was outlawed a couple of centuries back but I hear it's making a remarkable comeback."

"Excellent. You tie him up and I'll get some matches."

"So that's how it went, is it?" Courfeyrac asked suggestively, and Eponine grabbed him by the arm to pull him out of reach of the bed.

"I think we ought to clear out of here before--" she began, but was cut off when Marius came staggering awkwardly into the room as he was wont to do, nearly tripping over the threshold when he saw Enjolras and Grantaire lying in bed together and turning the most alarming shade of pink.

"Oh- Jeeze, I didn't know-- Courf said your car was parked outside but I didn't think--" Courfeyrac burst out laughing and clapped the blushing Marius on the back, while Enjolras shot daggers and Eponine still tried to pull them from the room.

"Hey, neither did I but it's no surprise really, am I right?"

"I swear to God, Courfeyrac--" Enjolras began.

"Watch what you say, it's his birthday afterall - oh, God, you guys decided to do it on Christmas Eve? Now _that's_ tasteless."

"I know for a _fact_ you've done worse, Courf, now leave the guys alone," Eponine persisted, but Marius seemed to think he had gathered himself enough to speak.

"Oh no, there's nothing wrong with it, I just-- didn't know you were--" The poor boy was hit square in the face with a pillow Grantaire sent sailing towards him, and when he looked down at Enjolras he nodded his approval and flung himself back into Grantaire's side, entangling both his arms and his legs with the other man's.

"You're really not helping your case, there, Enj," Courf pointed out.

"Will you all just _be quiet_?” Enjolras cried harshly into Grantaire's shirt, and without thinking Grantaire brought a hand up to gently brush his fingers over Enjolras's temples.

"Courfeyrac I swear to God I will abandon you here and you can figure out a way to get the car back yourself," Eponine threatened, grabbing him by the collar and Marius by the arm to drag them both out.

"Two months ago and 'Ferre would have owed me fifty bucks, I can't believe you two. Inconsiderate assholes!" he called as she threw him outside.

"I apologize for him, but I hope you know we're all happy for you. Feel better, Enjolras. See you guys tonight," she said, slamming the door shut swiftly behind her before either could protest or correct her. A moment later they heard the door outside close and silence returned to the apartment.

"Asshole," Enjolras said, readjusting himself against Grantaire's chest, and Grantaire found himself putting an arm around Enjolras's back to hold him closer.

"I'm sorry they had to be so loud, dear," Grantaire said before he could stop himself, but if Enjolras noticed the ending he didn't show it, and within a moment he had dosed off gripping Grantaire again.

 

It was only a couple of hours later the next time they woke, finding themselves, blessedly, alone. Enjolras started to move but soon gave up with a little whine.

Really, he _had_ to stop making those noises. It was indecent.

“Any better?” Grantaire asked, suppressing a yawn.

“I guess.”

“You don’t sound it.”

“I know,” Enjolras said with a sigh, and, to Grantaire’s surprise, tightened his hold on Grantaire’s shirt. He had expected him to try sitting up, and was in the process of moving his arm from around Enjolras’s back, but instead Enjolras grabbed it and pulled it awkwardly about him so that his hand rested on Enjolras’s shoulder. “You’re warm,” was all he offered by way of an answer. “And you did that . . . thing, before. Can you do it again?”

Grantaire went bright red, but carefully moved his hand up to stroke his head, brushing his fingers over Enjolras’s soft blond curls, wondering what the hell was going on and if and when he had to wake up.

“Thank you.”

“It’s . . . nothing,” Grantaire said in a small voice.

“No, I mean for staying. Thank you for helping me.”

“Oh. That’s no problem at all. . . Are we . . . are we going to get up, though? It’s nearly noon, god knows what Courf’ll be telling people if we don’t show up at The Musain. . . Or what he’s told them already. . .”

“No one gives a _damn_ what Courfeyrac has to say about this. What kind of hypersexulaized society are we living in that two people can’t sleep in a bed for one night without making jokes?”

Grantaire tried to shrug, but it was difficult with Enjolras’s head wedged between his shoulder and his neck. “It’s just Courf.”

“I realize. . . I guess I’m supposed to shower now, or something?”

“Might help you wake up,” Grantaire allowed, taken aback by the sudden change of subject. “That is, as long as you can stand.”

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?” he said, sighing, and ultimately pushing himself up off of Grantaire, leaving him wishing he had held him just a little tighter for a little longer as it was likely to have been both the first and last time he’d ever have Enjolras in his arms like that.

Enjolras paused sitting on the edge of the bed, and looked back at Grantaire, seeming uncertain.

“You’ll . . . I mean, are you going to leave?”

“Do you want me to leave?” Grantaire asked, sitting up and trying to hide the slight fear creeping into his voice. He didn’t know which was worse anymore, staying here or rushing out.

“No,” Enjolras said, and though the sound was small and his eyes downcast, Grantaire nearly fell off the bed.

“Good,” he said when he recovered, “because you still sound like shit and I’m pretty sure it would be reckless abandonment to let you fend for yourself just now.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Go shower. I’ll still be here when you come out.” Grantaire got up and stretched, and Enjolras hurriedly started for the bathroom.

“I- thanks,” he said, and slipped inside, closing the door behind him before Grantaire could say any more.

Shaking his head at the door where Enjolras had disappeared, soft and warm and light—no, no he _had_ to stop thinking like that. It was Enjolras. _Enjolras_. Beautiful, glorious, wonderful Enjolras, who Grantaire had only really realized he was completely in love with a year or so ago, and since resolved to do his best to do absolutely nothing about it.

Who was he kidding? He had just spent the best night of his life with the love of his life clinging onto him.

But of course, it had meant nothing. To Enjolras, it actually probably ranked among his worst nights. Drunk, uncomfortable, and forced to pass it with Grantaire out of worry that Grantaire might go and get himself into a car accident otherwise.

It wasn’t allowed to mean anything under those circumstances.

Grantaire dragged himself off to the kitchen to make breakfast.

A short while later Enjolras came out from the bedroom clad in pajamas and a robe, his blond hair a few shades darker and damp, and found Grantaire sitting cross-legged on his couch half watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

“Kinda reminds me of you,” he said, pointing at the screen when he heard Enjolras’s footsteps stop behind him, not trusting himself to turn around and face him.

“Courf beat you to that joke five years ago.”

“No, not the Grinch – though I definitely see the resemblance. Cindy Lou."

“The little girl?”

“Yup.” Enjolras swatted at Grantaire’s head and he laughed, but because Grantaire still had not turned around he missed the smile that flashed across Enjolras’s face. “I made you breakfast,” he said, recovering himself.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to—” Enjolras began, but Grantaire cut across him.

“I’m here to look after you, aren’t I?” he asked, standing up and pulling Enjolras to the tiny table in his kitchenette, not at all caught up on the fact that Enjolras’s hair dripped on the tip of his nose as he did so. “So have a waffle and shut up. And you’re drying your hair.”

“I can’t do both at the same time,” Enjolras pointed out, though he allowed himself to be pushed down into the chair.

He also allowed Grantaire to stand behind him as he ate and towel off his hair.

They didn’t waste time after that, and Enjolras dressed and was ready to leave not a half hour later. Grantaire, half annoyed but not really surprised by how Enjolras still managed to look like he’d just walked out of a painting despite being hungover and sluggish, took Enjolras in his car and stopped but briefly at his apartment to change before running back downstairs to Enjolras and driving them to The Musain.

The party wasn’t bad, Christmas with the Hucheloups never was, but their friends made a kind effort to keep it down a bit upon their entrance, and a not-so-kind effort to hang mistletoe all around them when they saw it had not been arm-in-arm.

Enjolras seemed not to notice, but Grantaire cast an unappreciative look at Eponine every time he came across another sprig of the stuff shoved someplace less and less inconspicuously as the night wore on, though all he ever received in return was a devilish grin and a few words’ encouragement, which he adamantly denied understanding the point of.

When the night seemed to have run its course, Enjolras had long since recovered to a more cheerful air but was still tired enough to be among the first to want to leave, though not having driven there himself his friends not-so-subtly came up with a number of excuses that landed him back in Grantaire’s car for the ride home.

They didn’t sit in silence on the way back, Enjolras flicking on the radio as soon he sat down, but the slow and sappy carols did little to help. When they arrived at Enjolras’s apartment he paused a moment, wondering if Enjolras was expecting him to walk him upstairs when he didn’t move immediately.

Reluctantly, he turned to stare at Enjolras bundled up in his customary red jacket and “festive” green hat and scarf, and found him leaning his head back against the seat, his eyes closed and a slight smile playing at the edges of his lips. Unsure of what to say, Grantaire cleared his throat and Enjolras straightened up, turning off the radio.

“Thank you. . . Again,” he said, turning to Grantaire as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “For driving me home and for driving me there and making sure I didn’t manage to stupidly get myself killed in the past twenty four hours, and, well, you know.”

“Anytime,” Grantaire said, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel.

“I don’t plan on feeling like that again for a while, thanks,” Enjolras said, shaking his head.

“Shame, I was gonna suggest you start going to the pub with Bahorel and I.”

Enjolras laughed quietly and they sat in silence for just a moment longer than would have been considered normal. “Well, I’ll let you get home after all this. You must be tired. Merry Christmas, Grantaire.”

“And a Happy New Year,” Grantaire said, forcing a grin as Enjolras got out of the car. “I’ll see you.”

“See you,” he replied, closing the door and heading inside as Grantaire drove off.

Enjolras went upstairs and let himself into his apartment, fumbling slightly with the key as he was still wearing the gloves Cosette had gotten for him a year or two back. He removed the gloves and set them on the counter, taking off his hat, his scarf, and his coat and kicking off his shoes as he headed straight for his bedroom, yawning.

When he had settled himself under the covers he was smiling, but it still felt as though there were something weighty sitting in the pit of his stomach. He dismissed the idea that someone had managed to slip something into his drink on the basis that he’d only had water all day – and the hot chocolate Grantaire had made him with breakfast earlier – but that did nothing to ease the slight discomfort that still seemed to wriggle inside him, and he couldn’t understand why.

Today had been a good day, by all accounts, especially given how bad he had felt this time last night. As much as his friends joked about his rants against commercialism this time of year, he had always loved the holidays because they somehow managed to bring out the best in a lot of people, at least when they were done getting into fights at department stores. But spending the holidays with his group of friends was always a wonderful thing, a hopeful time that was an example of the kind of peace they spent the whole year petitioning for, and it was a good thing to have a reminder of that kind of feeling every now and then.

It was Christmas, and Enjolras ought to be happy. It had been a good Christmas, and he was fairly sure he was. Why then did he feel so strange on top of that?

He rolled over onto his side and pulled the blanket closer around him, wrapping his arms about the pillow that occupied the other side of the bed. Out of simple habit against the cold, he buried his face against it, breathing in a scent that he was surprised to find he recognized as being distinctly Grantaire, and felt face split into a grin.

He froze, his eyes flying open with something between a gasp and a groan.

“ _Nutcrackers_.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Year’s Eve found Enjolras with most of his friends in Courfeyrac’s living room, and to their shock he drank almost willingly, though none could have guessed the reason why- especially since none of them saw him steel himself before stealing a kiss from a very shocked Grantaire as they watched the ball drop. The next day, however, he was sitting on Grantaire’s couch at Combeferre’s insistence, doing his best to articulate to Grantaire that no, he wasn’t here to say he had been drunk, regretted it, and meant nothing by it. That, no, he didn’t want to be drunk for it but he had chosen to drink out of nervousness alone. That he _wanted_ to kiss Grantaire again, not because he was drunk, but because he was happy, or because he was sad, or because Grantaire was happy or sad, or because he hadn’t seen him in a little while and missed him, or because he’d woken up beside him and was grateful he _didn’t_ have to miss him, or for a million and two other reasons that he couldn’t even think of right then, but that he thought were worth finding out.

He told him, in short, that he loved him, and for once, Grantaire found himself rightfully believing what he would have thought impossible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Christmas the following year, they woke up in each other’s arms again. Enjolras took a shower again, and Grantaire made them breakfast. After they had eaten, however, they returned to _their_ room and went through _their_ closet, dressing together in the usual brand of ridiculous Christmas attire only appropriate one day every year.

Enjolras threw a positively hideous sweater over his boyfriend’s dark curls and kissed him on the nose when he reappeared above the collar. Grantaire fixed a candy cane-patterned tie about Enjolras’s neck as he buttoned up a red and green flannel, and in response to the slightly-more-than-necessary tugging Grantaire had given to his tie, pressed him against the wall when he had finished, about to kiss him senseless, until he noticed Grantaire’s eyes had fixated somewhat strangely on the bed behind him.

“What is it, R?” Enjolras asked, pausing, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” Grantaire answered, his eyes meeting Enjolras’s again. “It’s just that this time last year, I had thought I’d just had the best night of my life, and I felt guilty because you didn’t know that, and I thought I had taken advantage of you.”

Enjolras’s worry melted away in the light of his laughter. “Look at the time, Love: this time last year we were still asleep – and _a lot_ more innocently than we have been since, might I add.” He slid his arms over Grantaire’s shoulders and wove his hands into his hair, and Grantaire wrapped his arms into their place about Enjolras’s waist. “You know I love you,” Enjolras whispered, leaning their foreheads together, and the words were not a question.

“Not as much as I love you.”

“No,” Enjolras agreed, grinning, “Twice as much,” he corrected, and kissed him. “And then some.”


End file.
